Robert B. Parker's Wonderland Read Online Free Page B

the women at the designer showroom across the hall. I appreciated the routine of making fresh coffee, listening to it brew atop my file cabinet as I sorted through bills and searched for the occasional check that slipped through my door. Pearl had come to work with me that morning, and she curled herself up on the couch, sighing deeply, and returned to sleep as I turned to study more spring rain. Rivulets zigzagged across the windows facing Berkeley Street. Ella sang softly on my computer while I made a list of phone calls on a yellow legal pad.
    I had just picked up the phone when Z opened my door and sank into my client chair with a thud. Pearl lifted her head with great attention but, recognizing Z, took another long sigh and returned to her morning snooze.
    I put down the phone. I crossed off the first name on my list.
    “You worried?” Z said.
    “I got your message,” I said. “I had started to think that woman had taken you prisoner.”
    “I wouldn’t fight it,” Z said, standing up from the chair and removing his black leather jacket. He hung it on my hat tree by mine and reached for a coffee mug. He poured us both a cup and slid one in front of me.
    “Hawk usually brings donuts.”
    “I promised Henry you’d cut down.”
    “Have we not covered confidentiality in the snoop business?”
    Z shrugged. With some more practice, he might shrug as artfully as I.
    “So,” I said.
    “Four Seasons.”
    “You worked a tail job to the Four Seasons?” I said. “My God, how did you survive?”
    “I left the car with the valet,” Z said. “Just like you said. Twenty bucks, by the way.”
    “Expense it.”
    “I found a place to sit in the lobby,” Z said. He folded his arms across his chest and sat up straight in the chair. “I watched her talk to the man at the desk and then take the elevator. I followed her and walked the opposite way on the same floor.”
    “Did she come back down?” I said.
    “Nope.”
    “You get a room number?”
    “Hmm,” Z said. “Would that help?”
    “Maybe you could have relied on your heritage and tracked her boot prints in the carpet.”
    Z just stared at me over the rim of his mug. He took a sip and sat it back down on the desk.
    “Do we have a name?” I said.
    “I had a beer at the bar.”
    “Bristol Lounge.”
    “Yeah, at the Bristol Lounge.”
    “Good place to have a beer.”
    Pearl jumped from the couch and trotted over to me, setting her head in my lap and looking up at me with baleful yellow eyes. I did not need to be Cesar Millan to know she wanted to take a stroll in the Public Garden. There were fresh flowers to sniff and squirrels to chase. I patted her head and waited for Z to finish.
    “I pretended like I was going to charge it to my room,” Z said. “I gave the woman’s room number. I dropped a twenty-dollar tip on him before I signed.”
    I nodded. “Boston ain’t cheap for a gumshoe.”
    “Just as he snatched it up, I asked if the room was under my name or my boss’s.”
    “And what did he say?”
    “He told me the name of the hotel guest.”
    “Smart.”
    “How do you think the Cree won the Battle of Cut Knife?”
    “That exact thought had just crossed my mind.”
    “J. Fraser.”
    “J. Fraser.” I placed my Red Wings up on the edge of my desk and noted a few new scuff marks on the edge. My A-2 bomber jacket and Dodgers cap hung neatly on a hook beside Z’s jacket. I scratched Pearl’s ears. She shook herself, and her collar jingled on her neck. I looked down at my yellow legal pad and tapped my pen in contemplation.
    “Okay,” I said. “So we’re one step up the food chain.”
    “Nice to know who J. Fraser is.”
    “You write down her license plate?” I said.
    “Looked like a rental,” Z said. “Didn’t figure it would matter.”
    I reached an open palm across the desk as he handed over a scrawled paper from his pocket.
    “Detective work,” I said. “Watch and learn.”
    I picked up the phone.

7
    I DON’T CARE for